


Flowers

by rubyisms



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 06:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20466614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyisms/pseuds/rubyisms
Summary: There's a temple on Chorus that shows your heart's deepest desire.





	Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> anonymous asked:  
One word fic/drabble prompt: flowers with kimboyle
> 
> want more? send me prompt or a request over at kiimboyle on tumblr!

There is a temple on Chorus that rivals the gateway that revealed the true warrior. The gateway showed the user’s deepest fear as a test of strength, something that quickly became publicly known when the few people who went through it talked about their experiences. The temple, however, did the exact opposite. It allowed the user to see their heart’s deepest desire and it was just as dangerous, if not more. The gateway would eventually force an unworthy user from it, but the temple.. You could leave willingly. It wasn’t uncommon for people to get so absorbed in their fantasy version of reality that they would waste away into nothing.**  
**

Vanessa was sure if the temple was activated before her alliance with Doyle and his troops, her deepest desire would’ve been a reality where her side had won the war and she was left to pick up the pieces. She was sure that if she had found it during the time before they lost Armonia but the war with Hargrove raged on, it would’ve been a reality where they had won the war together, despite all the bickering and fighting between them, most of which she was quick to start.

She finds it after the war is won, and she is the president of Chorus. Armonia is long gone and with it, her co-general. The radiation levels had been far too high to attempt to try and thoroughly search the ruins of Armonia for anything that could possibly remain. It didn’t stop Kimball from attempting her own little search for something she could use as a reminder of the man she once thought was a spineless coward.

The damaged, yet familiar helmet, is clasped in her hands as she approaches the temple. Santa warns her that whatever she may see there isn’t reality and only she can bring herself out of it. She knows this. She’s ready for whatever she has to see there. The helmet is set down, along with her own. Like the gateway, there’s a portal and she hesitates for a moment. It wasn’t too late to back out of this. She didn’t have to face the fictional reality of what she’s been denying for so long head-on. She could still turn around and go home.

Kimball takes a breath and she steps into the portal.

There are wildflowers everywhere, of various colors and types. She isn’t in her tan and blue armor, instead wearing a flowy sundress. The pattern on the white fabric are colorful flowers, much like the field she’s standing in. Her feet are bare, and she can feel the fertile soil underneath her toes. It’s calming and she almost laughs a little bit at how peaceful this reality is. A moment in the sun like this, of course it would be her deepest desire. A bit of peace after the brutal bloodshed and wars she’s been fighting.

She almost misses the man standing ahead. His blond hair is slicked back in the familiar clean and short style she had known from her co-general. Like her, he’s not in his armor, instead wearing a white button up shirt, the sleeves rolled up. The flowers are too thick to see what color his pants are, but Kimball isn’t focused on that. Her feet move of their own accord and she’s running, reaching out to touch him. It’s not the real man. It would never be the real Donald Doyle, but she could imagine and hope and _dream_ that the stubble on the jawline she drags her fingers over is the man she knew she had loved the moment that reactor core exploded.

“Vanessa.” Hearing her name in his voice again is enough to bring her to the brink of tears. The gentle hands that wipe them away is enough for her to finally break down and crumble from all the loss she’s gone through from this war. His voice is soothing, the hold on her body calming and it’s still not enough. She doesn’t need this fake version of Doyle. She needs the real Doyle.

And she knows that will never happen.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!


End file.
